For want of a lab rat
by MariaShadow
Summary: G1, Humour. Happy Ratchet plus new Something equals Very Bad. Rated for minor cursing


For want of a lab-rat 

"Finally!"

First Aid looked up in mild surprise as his mentor almost pounced on the stack of fresh supplies and tugged one box free from the pile. "What is it boss?" He queried absently, most of his attention devoted to eradicating a particularly obstinate stain on his favourite socket wrench. It looked like ground-in dried energon but it was far too tough for that.

"A new tool from Cybertron." Was the answer. "I ordered this frigging thing months ago."  
"Oh?" 'Aid set down the rag and decided the stain had to be rust or something, directing the low-level surgical laser in his right pinkie at it in an attempt to abrade the thing out. "What is it?"  
"Cranial and thorasic neuro-stimulus monitor." Came the reply. In the background 'Aid could hear the sound of packing material meeting a swift, merciful death at his mentor's hands. "Absolutely top of the line, ultra-sensitive and designed to monitor patients in anything from conscious and screaming to point of permanent shut-down stasis." Ratchet continued, flicking a glance at his apprentice as he finished removing the last of the packing material. Yup, he'd do. "C'mon kid, get over here. I need to calibrate this thing."

The younger mech took one cautious look at his master's new toy and decided that no, he'd rather not get any closer to the spike-riddled thing than he had to. "Um…sorry boss, but Groove just called me and said that Streetwise broke one of his antenna again and you know how jumpy he gets so I'd better get going and bye!" He was out the doors before Ratchet had a chance to object.

The CMO blinked, shrugged and headed into the more populated areas of the Ark. There were plenty more lab-rats out there.

He stuck his head in the control room, saw no sense in interrupting Prowl and Ironhide just yet, and started hunting for a suitable test subject.

Aha.

Ratchet smirked as Bluestreak innocently wandered into range. "Hey Blue, can I borrow you for a minute?"

The gunner blinked, turned and took a reflexive step backwards when he laid optics upon the nasty looking thing the CMO held nonchalantly in one hand, his brain quickly doing the math and coming up with a somewhat disturbing answer.

Happy Ratchet plus new Something equalled Very Bad.

Bluestreak immediately went into survival mode.

"Ah…sorry but I can't 'cause Wheeljack needs to tweak my targeting array and I really want to get it done before any battles 'cause it'd be a really bad thing if there was a battle and it was only partly done 'cause then I'd miss all the time and that'd be a really really bad thing especially if I hit an Autobot by mistake 'cause that'd make more work for you plus I don't think they'd enjoy it either and I'm late now so bye!" With that he dropped into vehicle mode and ran for dear life.

"…wimp." Ratchet muttered that and a few other unflattering phrases before resuming his search.

A half dozen Minibots moving down the corridor proved to be a tempting target. _"If they run at least I can grab one."_ Ratchet mused as he positioned himself square in the middle of the hall. "Hey, one of you got a minute?" He asked, this time holding his new scanner down against his thigh… which was almost exactly at optic level for most Minibots.

"Sorry Ratch, we're on patrol." Bumblebee replied with a somewhat less than easy smile, tight-beaming instructions to the rest of the group. One could say what they wished about Minibots, but they all had very keen survival instincts.

They scattered.

Swearing, Ratchet went for Plan B and tried to grab one of the smaller mechs, a plan that might have worked a year ago but their rugby training had evidently paid off when he couldn't lay a hand on a single one of them.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, coming out of a connecting hall, took one look at the cursing medic and bolted back the way they'd come. Mirage seemed to agree with the idea, judging by the disembodied running footsteps that betrayed him, quickly followed by the solid sounding _thunk_ of Red Alert's security office door sealing shut further up the hall.

"Flippin' Primus on a flippin' dammed pogo stick!" Ratchet cursed and stood, empty fist clenched and optics narrowed as he cast around for something nice and heavy. He'd club someone over the head and drag them if that's what it took to get a lab rat for this thing.

Unfortunately however, he didn't get the chance to even threaten it.

Someone must have spread the word because wherever he looked there wasn't a soul in sight. He tried the Aerialbots' dorm but the place showed obvious signs of a hasty evacuation. The story was the same with the Protectobots' dorm and the Dinobots' lair. The lounge, Rec room, training hall and even the armoury had been abandoned.

"What a bunch of slagging scardy-cats." Ratchet snarled and stalked back to the control room. Prowl and Ironhide were on duty and he knew they'd never abandon their post for something as petty as this.

However when he got there the room was suspiciously devoid of both black and white cruiser and rust red van. Spike and Carly were there instead, with Spike cradling his infant (and thankfully dozing) son in a front pack strapped to his chest.

One could have pushed the CMO over with a feather when he realised what had happened. His jaw dropped, then snapped shut with an audible click as his famous short fuse finally burnt out. "Those fragging little Pit-spawned…!"

What would have been an absolutely magnificent tirade was abruptly silenced by a stern look from Carly, the young mother's expression clearly expressing her capability to reduce the CMO to cinders and wingnuts if he so dared to wake her sleeping son. As a race the Autobots had learned very quickly to never lightly cross swords with an angry human female. (Especially one with an intimate knowledge of Autobot inner workings as Tracks had once discovered to his very vocal dismay.)

Suitably cowed, Ratchet tip-toed across to the humans and crouched, modulating his voice to be no louder than a human speaking softly. "Where the hell is everyone?"  
"Well…" Spike shifted slightly, one hand on his son's head " this morning Prime got chased out for a mental-health day, the Minibots all are on patrol, Prowl ordered Jazz, Hound and Mirage to pull the scientists and techs out into the field for escape and evasion training, Ironhide is supervising the teams for underwater training except for First Aid, he's doing a diagnostic on Omega, Red's locked up in his office, Blaster's hardwired into the comm. system for today, and Prowl's taking the rest of the warriors for rescue operations training." He replied, looking slightly smug.

Ratchet gave both adults a hard look. "How much did they pay you to cover for them?" He asked at length.  
"40 hours of free babysitting." Spike grinned, knowing full well there was no way Ratchet could beat that.  
"…fraggit!" The CMO rose and stalked out, thoroughly peeved.

As he passed the main entrance however, he found reason for his mood to improve significantly. For lo and behold, the Prime had just returned from his enforced vacation, pulling up and transforming just inside the portal to the outside world.

Ratchet pounced.

Optimus never had a chance.


End file.
